fuchsia, image by jorgland24, on Pixabay Welcome to Spirit Fire Review's newest issue! I'm excited that half of our contributors to this issue are new to us, and half are those who have published with us before! Please believe me when I say we are so happy to "meet" new contributors and to welcome back those who have previously graced this journal with their creativity. Why are people creative? God has made us in His own image (Genesis 1:26-27), to l

tulips, image by stux, on Pixabay Our Gestalt Perfect we are not, yet somehow we are. By grace. See good Lord’s mercy and forgiveness, and ours for each other. So goes the shape of our hearts. And, yes, see. We have it, as we are. Paradise like all loves, in all contours and colors. So much infinity to see through Love. The closer we are to our Artist, to all that Love is, the more we are complete, the more we are you and me, this blessed we. And of two hearts, fashioned a

fresh-baked bread, image by Kim Deslaurier Bread Haiku Baking bread my prayer Thanksgiving and praise to God for all of His Love * Rising smell of yeast Kitchen filled with warmth and love Communion with God * Knead for six minutes Hands heart mind meditation Stories like bread rise Kim R. Deslaurier taught writing for 20 years, and while her students were writing, she was writing with them. Highlights in her life were receiving a National Writing Project Fellowship, hosting

Harvest Sunset, photo by Mark Weinrich HARVEST SUNSET Cotton dust hovers in the west Texas sky. Dust that sparks and flares, igniting windows of coals, glowing embers so mesmerizing and warm, I want to hold out my hands. For I expect the flickering pop, the comfort and fellowship where I can find myself by looking in. For I know this burning majesty created in and through dust is only a reflection of what the Lord wants to radiate through me. * IRRESISTIBLE Galaxies of dew-st

Sahara dust, image by Qlug, on Pixabay Quintessence of Dust [With a nod to the Bard] We are the moving dust, we are the breathing dust, we are the seeing dust, we are the living dust. But how, you ask, and rightly so, can dust fall asleep, dreaming of places unknown and lovers unmet—how can dust imagine whole worlds and love with one heart for sixty winters and sixty summers? And do the notes that stir life come also from dust, just a little dust, and nothing more? When the m

bubbles, image by ddimitrova, on Pixabay The Leap Is Where Saints Dwell Concrete tables wrapped in primary colors and a happy birthday banner resist the gray, mud from overnight rain. Bubble maker and guests arrive late to the ceremonial. My daughter so gravely wants her son to act his part. How old was she when I learned? She does not belong to me. Children, timid, approach, but he ignores them, clings, begs for cake. I watch her fall into a well of worry and stop myself at

cottage, image by ractapopulous, on Pixabay An Angel at the Door On this night, while we were crying, an angel was at the door, seeking a father, seeking a husband, seeking a brother, seeking a son. Oh Hear! The angels’ voices, welcoming him home, sweet soul, sweet soul at Peace! On this night, while we were crying, a chariot waited at the door, sent by Heaven to reclaim an angel, and welcome a saintly soul home. Oh Hear! The angels’ voices, welcoming him home, sweet soul, sw

gate, image by Monika Baechler, on Pixabay Vespers and Old Sticky Gates Praise for the moment I pushed the right button on the blue tooth device. Praise for the chanting monks that ride along to the garden to tuck the chickens in for the night. Praise for crooked old gates that creak psalms when the wind blows. Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ, for not letting me lock myself out. __________ The Demolition of Enchantment Every time we raze a cathedral, scatter the stone and se

grocery store, image by Tariq786, on Pixabay Seeing Angels Everywhere Sally swears and crosses her heart, she sees angels in unlikely places. She doesn’t see them in church, although she prays for them to appear to Father Frank so he doesn’t chuckle during confession. Sally says one sat with her in the waiting room, held her hand, when her mother died. When she dried her eyes, he was gone. Last week one helped her pick up boxes she knocked down in the cereal-and-coffee aisle.

i image by Sofia_Shultz_Photography, on Pixabay, modified An Affair with Love They were not a young couple with a love of lust, but elderly, with a lust of love. Do you know the difference? Somewhere personality exposed itself, imagination, creativity, intellect, a theology of together— two talking heads waking together, snow falling outside, the temperature falling from 50 to 6 below, a wraparound wind, neither one so uncomfortable they need to turn on the furnace. Whew—that

EG Ted Davis' poetry has appeared in various online and in-print literary journals and in miscellaneous Christian publications. Image credit: arrows pointing, by geralt, on Pixabay. February 2022 issue, Spirit Fire Review

cup of coffee, image by omilk339, on Pixabay Bells Bells mark our lives. A ringing phone with news of a new birth, bright rattle to make a baby laugh. Bells to monitor life functions, comforting as a lullaby. A bell to awaken and call to school. One tolls to remind us to worship. Chimes in a bell tower tell the time, the doorbell announces a visitor. As adults, we long for the tune of the ice cream truck. There is a reason we hang wind chimes. Nature driven melodies calm and

mountain landscape, Image by Free-Photos, on Pixabay Round Trip And when I see what the Hubble has seen: the ultra-deep field, I fall in love. I fall in love. And all the green in the valley and the mountains we’re passing through too fast on our 300-mile way home from grandchildren, all the green says: We love you, too. All the green says: Do you know that? Can you feel that? And the light from eight minutes ago, the light from our nearest star, warms us as we travel. And th